


Rewriting the Story

by Carmendy



Series: Rewriting the Story [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Original Character - Freeform, Someone Helps Will Graham, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmendy/pseuds/Carmendy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While imprisoned in the hospital for the criminally insane, Will meets a potential new ally; an author who vows to "rewrite" his story and bring the real killer to justice. (OC)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Better Ending

"Hello, Will." He sat on a bench behind the bars, hunched over, hands on his knees, staring vacantly at the wall opposite of him. She notices how his hair is greasy and his eyes are hollow, circles engraved deeply underneath, barely a flicker of a light still present in the iris' glassy surface.

He notices that her hair is nicely kept, worn wavy and swept over one shoulder. He notices that her makeup, clothes and jewelry are all well-polished, almost too well polished, as if she is wearing a costume. He notices everything about her, except for her eyes. He doesn't like eyes. Eyes lie.

"Who are you?" When he spoke he was surprised at how old his voice sounded. Old and antique and crackly, like a record player at an antique store that has been set aside to gather dust, its purpose ignored.

"I'm a novelist. I write books. Fiction. My name is Carmen Banks." She watched him carefully, and while he remained in the same posture and demeanor, she found the recognition on his face. He'd read her books before—or at least heard of them. His lack of response was expected, but she hadn't planned this conversation as well as she'd meant to.

"Of course, you're real. Sorry, you probably already knew that." He noticed that there was something uncertain about her demeanor, and while she looked polished, professional, and well-kempt, this was the first time she'd done this sort of thing. She didn't make house—prison-calls often. This uncertainty assured him that she had good intentions. He'd read her books before—what seemed like a lifetime ago—and he enjoyed them. He just wasn't sure he wanted to be the subject of one.

He stood up, and made his way over to the front of the cell. His limbs had atrophied from his time here, and although it had only been a few months, it felt like years. He couldn't imagine what years would feel like. He figured that given years here, he would lose the ability to feel altogether.

"No, no, it's nice to have some affirmation every once in a while. Sometimes, in here, I find myself doubting." When he spoke, it was even worse than the first time. It was clear that he hadn't said a word in a long while. His voice had decayed, reduced to what was almost a croak.

"I've been reading about you since The Tattler. Your story is fascinating, it almost reads like fiction." At the mention of the article, he felt a cold convulsion run through his spine. He managed to compose himself quickly, and respond.

"That may be because most of it is."

"Yes, I suppose it doesn't paint you in a very flattering light." He laughed bitterly,

"No, no it doesn't."

"Do you believe any of it? Do you think you killed those girls?"

"I—I used to be sure. I'm sorry-what exactly are you doing here?"

"I've followed your story with great interest. See, lately I've had a terrible case of writers' block. But I'm not here to tell your story. I'm here to change it. And hopefully break through this block in the process. I'm sorry, but I have to return to my previous question. Do you think you killed them?"

"I know that I didn't kill Mallory. But Abigail—I don't know. Time in this place, it sort of scrambles everything. I've been trying to hold on—not to fade, but now I'm finding that I'm not so sure about anything. Everything is hazy. The past, the future, even this, right now." He's not sure why he trusts her, but he can tell that she's sincere. No matter her intentions.

"Well, I assure you that I'm real. And I can assure you that you didn't kill any of those girls. Because I know who did." This barely fazed him. He leaned his head back, sticking his chin out.

"And who is that?"

"Doctor Hannibal Lecter." Immediately his demeanor shifted. He stood up straight and his eyes seemed to clear immediately.

"Hannibal?"

"Yes.

"And why are you so sure?"

"I did some research of my own. I requested access to this case, and the evidence. Chief Crawford approved me to have this conversation with you. I'm a rather well-known author, my presence here could have major influence if I needed it be. I said I had drawn inspiration from your story for my next novel. I told Jack I was focusing on the psychological elements. Your disease and how it may have crippled your willpower, causing the deaths of those girls. I bought a house, in an empty clearing, a couple miles across from the lake where you live. As I'm sure you can piece together, I'm quite dedicated to this story. Sometimes the lights are on. One night, when they weren't, I went in, planted some bugs and cameras in the rooms that weren't lit. The lights came on consistently, around midnight, for six days. Then I waited for another week, and another, and they never came back on again. I recovered the devices, and I found out who'd been turning the lights on. Your psychiatrist."

"What was he doing in my house?"

"Tampering—at first I figured he was planting evidence, but they'd already acquired everything they needed from the crime scene. The thing is, there was more that he needed. He was taking things—personal things, studying them, as if he was trying to get to know you better. He already knows you as a colleague, and a patient—I think for some reason he felt the need to know you personally. I believe he is composing his testimony. Your trial is in three weeks."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Well, all the evidence I've gathered so far is admissible in court. I have plans however. One of the most fascinating articles of evidence Crawford's team has gathered so far are the clock drawings that you supposedly created. The clocks that Hannibal had accumulated through your therapy are all normal. The clock you drew for Alana was skewed, showing clear evidence of the symptoms of encephalitis. But when I was examining the two side by side, I noticed a clear discrepancy. The number four was drawn in two entirely different styles. This on its own isn't enough to implicate Hannibal, there are plenty of justifications that could be made for the change. But I believe that the drawings Doctor Lecter handed over to the police are not the originals. I think they were forgeries. If I could recover the originals, it would provide compelling evidence against the good Doctor. I believe, Will, that you are innocent. I saw how this story was going to end, and I have to say, it's rather disappointing. So I think, with your blessing, I'd like to rewrite it. What do you say?"

She doesn't offer a hand to shake. Handshakes mean nothing here.

"What would this entail on my end?"

"I'll be visiting regularly, asking you whatever questions I need answers to in order to crack this case. You'll have to answer me honestly. That's why I asked you about the girls. I wanted to make sure they hadn't entirely convinced you that you were guilty yet. I needed to make sure you still had doubts. You'll need to keep those doubts, of course. It should be easier to do, knowing there is someone who knows you are innocent. Do we have an agreement?"

He considers for a moment. He doesn't have much to lose. The only worse thing than staying here would be dying, and he'd been beginning to think that maybe even that would provide some relief.

"Alright."

"Excellent. I'll also be questioning your colleagues; Alana, Jack, Beverly. I may also attempt to ascertain Ms. Lound's perspective on all of this. I think that possibly, if she's shown the evidence against another suspect, she may switch sides. She doesn't want to hurt you, she just wants the best story. And I think my story has a better ending." She smiles.

"I'll see you soon, Will. Keep fighting. Stay sharp. You're far from fading." He's not sure whether to say goodbye or good luck, so he settles on,

"Thank you." She smiled once more and turned on her heel, walking back down the hallway.

"And Carmen," She stopped.

"Yes?"

"Stay away from Hannibal Lecter." The moment he said it, he felt glad. He very well may have just saved a life.

"I know."

Her response, for some reason, made him feel safer. He had an ally now. Maybe even an ally worth fighting for.


	2. Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmen interviews Jack Crawford about Will Graham, hoping to obtain helpful information about Doctor Lecter. Jack promises to provide her with contact information for everyone Will knew, including Hannibal Lecter, if he approves of the first 40 pages of her manuscript.

Carmen's car was a white BMW. Amidst the sea of black, silver, and navy cars at the precinct, it stood out. Carmen had been routinely visiting the precinct once a week for the last month. It had taken her four weeks to fully study the evidence, and four weeks to devise a precise plan that would result in the clearing of Will Graham's name. No one at the precinct had an inkling of her true intentions, but she managed to keep them all cooperative anyway.

It was September, and it was cold outside. In the time it took to drive straight from the asylum to the precinct, the windows of her car had frosted over. She pulled into her usual parking space, which was the visitors' spot closest to the entrance, pushed open the large glass doors, and stepped inside.

She liked the feel of the precinct. It was warm and cold at the same time. It was busy and impersonal, functioning for the sole purpose of maintaining the bigger picture, careless of the people who worked to keep it intact. The atmosphere of the building gave the illusion of anonymity, even though she was anything but anonymous to the people inside. She took off her coat and folded it over one arm, her heels making that irritating noise with every step she took. This whole outfit was nothing like what she usually wore, but it was important to keep up the impression. She found the heels uncomfortable and the skirt far too tight, but it made her look important and so she put up with the minor discomforts.

A female file-worker, Linda Berring, greeted her immediately.

"Hello Ms. Banks, what will you be needing today?" Carmen rather liked Linda, although she was more upbeat than she normally would've preferred, Linda was respectful and professional, and that was admirable.

"I'd like to speak to Jack, if he's not too busy."

"No examining the evidence today?"

"No, in fact, I don't think I'll need to see it again."

"Just Jack?"

"Yes, if you don't mind."

"Alright, I'll go and see if he can spare a moment. You can just wait in the visitors' chair while I go get him."

"Thank you Linda." She nodded courteously and headed off towards what Carmen assumed to be Jack's office.

Carmen cautiously stood up and glanced at the large whiteboard in the center of the room. It was hard to read the slanted writing from so far away, but she made out the words 'hit', 'run', and 'narcotics'. Nothing that interested her. She sat back down and waited.

It was less than two minutes before the door to Jack's office opened, and Jack himself emerged.

She stood up again, and gave a small wave. He headed towards her.

"Sorry about the wait. I was actually on a phone call with Doctor Chilton. He assured me that your conversation with Will went smoothly."

"Indeed it did. He was very cooperative and honest."

"Did he seem stable?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Jack, you of all people should know Will was never stable. I don't suspect he ever will be either. But there are plenty of unstable people in the world who are not serial murderers. I count myself as one of them. Now, if you were inquiring to his mental state, I'd say that being incarcerated has taken a toll on him, but he's not close to cracking. I don't see him having a breakdown for a long time. Although the procedures of the trial could accelerate that process."

"That's good to know. But I suspect you aren't here just to tell me how your meeting with Will went."

"No, I'm actually here to talk to you. Remember how I told you I planned on interviewing those close to Will in order to compose a timeline of his mental disintegration, once I finished examining the evidence?"

"Are you telling me you've finished examining the evidence?"

"Well, don't you catch on quickly."

"It took you long enough. The people down in forensics were getting worried about the amount of time you were spending looking at those drawings. So who will you be interviewing first?"

"Well, actually, I was wondering if you could spare a minute. I believe you've known Will the longest, and you were there for several of his episodes, if my research is correct."

"Isn't it always?"

"Well, I try my best to make sure I only absorb the truths, that is, of course before turning them into fiction. That is why I'm here after all—research. Shall I conduct the interview in your office?"

"I don't see why not. We're close to closing this case, it's been a slow day anyway."

"Great. Lead the way." She followed Jack down the hallway, through a door, and into his office. It was a very standard space; large wooden desk cluttered with files, telephone next to a white porcelain mug half full of lukewarm coffee, degree framed and hung above stacks of stored-away papers in the back right corner of the room. A smaller corkboard was placed on the left side of the room, also addressing the narcotic related hit and run being handled in the body of the precinct. There were two chairs opposite the one placed center on the other side. He gestured to one of them,

"Please, make yourself comfortable." He sat and she took a seat.

"Now, before I start asking you questions, I'd like to make a request."

"Go on."

"I found my time with Will Graham to be some of the most well spent since I've arrived here. I'm very interested in him-and his story, as you already know. So I was simply wondering if you could arrange with doctor Chilton permission for regular visits. I was thinking once a week, maybe more once my progress on the novel picks up."

"You do realize Will is in an institution for the insane. He spends most of his time in solitary. Anyone he interacts with weekly puts themselves at great risk in the case he were to be released, or, although unlikely, escape. I could make the request of Doctor Chilton, but you'd have to speak with him about what weekly visits would entail."

"Those are terms I can live with. Could you speak with him by Friday?"

"I believe that's possible-but before I do anything, I want to see some progress on this book."

"I've already written the first two chapters. I could get you the first forty pages by Wednesday."

"I'll call him as soon as the pages are on my desk."

"Excellent. Now, shall we begin?" She withdrew a recording device, a notepad, and a pen from her bag, then set the three items on the desk.

"I hope you don't mind me recording this conversation. When working on my previous novel, I would always listen to the interview recordings when I found myself dealing with writers block. Of course, if you're uncomfortable, I can attempt to transcribe it by hand."

He hesitated for a moment before responding, "You can record starting now."

With his agreement, she pressed a small red button on the device.

"Do you promise this recording will only be for personal use?" He attempted to ascertain eye contact with her, but her gaze stayed steadily fixed on the recorder, refusing to come up to meet his.

"Absolutely. Now, are you ready for my first question?"

"How long have you known Will?"

"He first came to my attention back when he was a cop. Now keep in mind, he was a shitty cop, so I didn't really notice him until I heard about the whole in incident that got him kicked off the force before he turned to teaching."

"When did you recruit him to your task force?"

"After the eighth Hobbs murder."

"Why?"

"We were getting nowhere. Our leads had all dried up, and I figured his particular set of skills would prove very advantageous. Of course, now we know why he was able to come up with the killer so easily."

"He took quite a few cases after the Hobbs murders."

"I'm sorry, I only answer questions."

"I'm sorry, I'll be more clear. At what point did signs of his mental deterioration first show?"

"Around the fourth case, with the angelmaker. An officer from Wolftrapp told me they'd found him standing in the road, unable to remember how he got there. It didn't concern me much. I figured he'd probably had a little too much to drink before bed. I never thought it pointed to any mental instability."

"But it got worse, didn't it?"

"Yes. The totem case, he apologized for leaving when he'd been there the whole time. He tried to cover it up but I could tell something was wrong."

"Did he ever express concerns of his own?"

"After we caught the angelmaker-or after he surrendered—that was what Will said—he expressed interest in permanently retiring from the field and returning to the classroom. I understood that seeing those things could cause great mental trauma—that's why I insisted he start seeing Doctor Lecter—but I never thought-I never saw Will as a killer. You know, when we found the evidence, I felt stupid. He'd been right there the whole time and I never saw it coming."

"What did Doctor Lecter say about his mental health?"

"I suppose Will fooled him too, up to the very last second. You know how things played out in the end."

"You shot him."

"I found him with a gun pointed at Hannibal's head and I incapacitated him."

"Was there any point at which he resented how much you needed him?"

"He had doubts of course, but every decision he made was of his own will."

"Are you saying you never pushed him?"

"No, of course not. I just—I didn't know how close he was to the edge."

…

She leaned over and pressed the red button on the device, hindering the recording.

"I'm sorry those questions got so intense. It helps me more that way, it gives me a better feel for the emotions that those who were close to Will were experiencing."

"I must say, I've never found interviews of any kind to be particularly pleasant, especially lately. I'm just glad you got what you needed." She began packing up her materials from the desk.

"Of course. Oh, also I'd appreciate if you could get me Alana Bloom's contact information, and maybe reach out to Doctor Lecter—see if he'd be interested in speaking to me. I'll type up those pages, expect them on your desk by Wednesday." She zipped up her purse and turned to face Crawford.

"I'll get back to you then.", he answered.

"Thank you. Your help has been irreplaceable."

"Do you need me to walk you out?"

"No, I think I can find my own way." She lifted her purse over her shoulder and pulled open the door.

"Well then, I guess this is goodbye." He offered a tight smile, and she beamed back. It was the smile she practiced in the mirror—grateful, but still professional, not too toothy, just wide enough to make the receiver feel as though they have done something worthwhile.

"Goodbye, Jack."

"Carmen." She stepped through the door. He called after her,

"I look forward to seeing those forty pages."

The door swung shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two! I'll continue updating weekly/bi-weekly. Kudos are greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	3. Writer's Block

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmen struggles to complete the forty pages she promised to deliver to Jack, until she finds inspiration in the words of a forensics worker named Beverly.

When she had told Jack Crawford that she had already written the first two chapters, she had lied. In fact, Carmen Banks had not written one literary word since she arrived in Virginia. She'd signed checks and taken down phone numbers, but she hadn't even completed a single grocery list in the time since she'd arrived in Virginia.

So after the interview with Jack, Carmen returned to her white BMW, and she drove straight home. Sometimes she forgot that this was her home. Wolftrap Virginia. She'd lived in California and New York and Seattle. But this place was different. She had come here planning to rent an apartment for a while, track down whoever it was that ran the Baltimore State Prison for the Criminally Insane, leverage her influence to obtain an interview with Will Graham, and write a novel loosely based on the murders of the Minnesota Shrike. However, once she got there, things got complicated.

Will was being held under federal jurisdiction, which meant she would need a referral from someone high up in law enforcement. And it turned out the apartment she had been trying to rent had been the site of a rather bloody murder, still considered a crime scene. But after staying a few days in a motel, she fell in love with the town and the trees and the quaint wood-panel houses and the birds that woke her up at an ungodly hour of the morning. So she found a nice, faded blue, pain-chipped, wood-paneled, forty-year old colonial next to a small lake and she bought it. She had plenty of spending money stored away, and she figured that even after she got her interview it would make a nice, quiet writing spot.

Then she found out that her house was a quarter of a mile away from Will Graham's home. This, of course, led her to wonder why the lights of an imprisoned man's home came on every night at an hour past midnight. And this, this led her to investigate and eventually confirm that Will Graham was innocent—something she'd already suspected-but her most valuable discovery since arriving at Wolftrap was that Doctor Hannibal Lecter was not.

Her heels creaked against the rotting floorboards, she was careful not to let the stilettos snag in between the cracks of the wooden panels. She withdrew the house key from her purse and unlocked the door, roughly pushing it open as wood splintered from the doorframe. Once inside, she quickly placed her thumb on the monitor next to the door and kicked the door shut. Opening the door triggered a laser, which put a timer on activating the second level of security if a thumb print was not confirmed within the next two minutes. Carmen Banks was a little more than paranoid. But she saw nothing wrong with being a little extra cautious. She'd been sure to throw the press off the trail of her whereabouts, hinting at taking a much needed vacation in some sort of secluded island retreat. She had all mail delivered to a P.O. box, which she checked twice a week, unless otherwise necessary. She'd requested for all records of housing purchase to be sealed away with maximum security. As far as anyone who didn't bother coming up to her front doorstep (an action which would be registered by the security monitors positioned above the garage and front door) knew, this house was still unoccupied.

The house was frigid—the insulation was still subpar, and she wasn't willing to call a contractor to come and fix it. She was also not willing to go to the hardware store to buy the equipment needed to repair insulation herself. She kicked off her shoes and stepped quickly up the plywood stairs changing quickly into a henley, jeans, and thick woolen socks before returning back downstairs, to the desk which faced the big window in the living room, offering a clear view of the lake and surrounding forest. As well as, of course, Will Graham's home. Her laptop sat in waiting and she took a deep breath as she opened it and a blank white page and steady blinking black cursor welcomed her. She perched her hands on the keyboard, and waited. Waited for lighting to strike or words to come to the front of her mind and the tip of her tongue and spread through to the pads of her fingers as they used to, and now did not.

She thought of Will Graham, in the prison cell. Hunched over, resigned, and then, standing, like an animal who has decided that the opportunity of obtaining the bait has outweighed the risk of being trapped. He used to be a fisherman. A woman down in forensics told her that—Beverly something. She looked down at her fingers as they began to move, keying two words at the center of the title page.

"The Hunter".

It was a start.

And seven hours later, it was a beginning.

…

"Forty pages as promised." Jack glanced up from the case file he appeared to be studying, not high enough to be looking at Carmen, but enough to see the neatly paper clipped stack that lay before him. He adjusted the brims of his reading glasses.

"You're a day early."

"Inspiration dropped by unannounced. Thankfully I already had a room ready."

Lazily, he drew it towards him, eventually placing it over the case he had originally been studying.

"The Hunter?"

"It's a working title, subject to change, but I've grown rather attached to it in the time it took me to think it up and deliver it here, so I doubt it will."

In a single motion, he licked a calloused thumb and flicked through the pages.

"That appears to be in order. I'll take your word for it not being total crap. Now, I don't exactly have the time to read through all of this right now, but—" He opened one of the desk drawers, and withdrew a thin manila file folder.

"This is contact information for everyone I know had a personal relationship with Will Graham. And, being the kind of man he is, I doubt that he had many others. I'll leave the persuasion to you, but if you need me to pitch in a good word for you to sway someone's mind, then I'd be happy to do so. I'll call Doctor Chilton as soon as I finish reading this," He gestured to the beginning of the manuscript.

"I'm going to hope my deadline didn't rush you, and that I'll like what I read. I'm also going to hope that you abided by our legality agreement."

"Don't worry. No real names or discernible characteristics of anyone involved."

"Good. Is that all for now?" She plucked the thin file folder off of his desk and slid it into her purse.

"It should suffice. Now, if you'll excuse me," Carmen grinned.

"I have writing to do."

She left his office, quickly withdrawing her flip phone and discretely snapping a photo of this week's crime board as she exited.

She had some phone calls to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! All feedback is appreciated, thanks for reading! The next chapter should be up in 1-2 weeks.


	4. Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmen arranges a meeting with the first contact on the list given to her by Jack. Alana Bloom.

Carmen didn't even glance at the list until she was home. She didn't take it out of her purse until she had changed into more comfortable clothes, made a cup of coffee, and shut all the blinds.  
Then she set it on her desk with the utmost care, and turned to the first page. How kind. Jack had found the time to alphabetize the names. Alana Bloom was first. Carmen spent the night working out the specifics of how she planned for the conversation to go. In the morning, she felt ready, anxiously dialing the phone while pacing up and down the floorboards by the stairs.  
"Hello, am I speaking to Alana Bloom?"  
"You are indeed. Who is this?" Doctor Bloom did not receive many unsolicited phone calls, and she generally went to extreme measures to keep her personal phone number private.  
"Jack Crawford gave me your contact information." There was a short silence.  
"Well, that's unusual. I'm sorry, I don't believe I caught your name?"  
"It's Carmen Banks." A longer pause this time. She could almost hear Alana's eyebrows raise.  
"The established novelist?" Carmen appreciated that Alana went to the trouble to mention her by her occupation, and not an associated novel title or news article headline, such as "Three Time New York Bestselling Author by the Age of Twenty-One".  
"Yes, that's me."  
"I thought you were vacationing at some tropical island?" Carmen laughed.  
"No, actually quite the opposite. I actually bought a house here in Virginia a couple weeks ago. I only meant to stay long enough to cure my writers' block, but things have grown more complicated." Carmen put stress on the word 'complicated', indicating to Alana that it was a complication that plagued both of them.  
"Is this about Will Graham?" Alana sounded wary.  
"Indirectly, yes. Crawford granted me access to all the case material, evidence and all. He even managed to procure me an interview with Will at the institution."  
"Are you writing a book about him?" She was surprised at how defensive Doctor Bloom sounded of Will Graham's privacy. That was good, it meant they were on the same side. Carmen knew that in order to keep Alana on the line she would have to respond carefully.  
"No! My book is centered vaguely around the events of the Hobbs case. The characters may be inspired by those involved in the case, but I promise, I would never write anything that could jeopardize a real human being. Jack is under the impression that Will is more central to my story than he really is. It was the only way I could persuade him to let me interview Will. I actually—while I was examining the case evidence, I encountered something startling that I believe Jack's team may have missed. I'd rather discuss it in person though. Is there somewhere we could meet? "  
"Umm—sure. We could meet this afternoon at Brickenridge park. Does two o' clock work for you?"  
"Two is great! I'll see you then."  
"Alright then."  
"Goodbye." Alana hung up. Carmen stopped pacing and set the phone on the kitchen counter. She had a goal in contacting Alana, and it wasn't to extract information about Will Graham. Carmen knew that in order to take down the likes of Doctor Lecter, she would need support. She couldn't defend Will on her own. But with someone like Doctor Bloom on her side, she might stand a fighting chance.  
Carmen didn't bother wearing the heels and pencil skirt to the park. If she overdressed, it could give Alana the impression that she was desperate. Which she was, of course. But she didn't need to show it. So Carmen wore a large sweater, tight black pants, and boots, leaving her light hair loose over one shoulder. And then she grabbed a purse and coat, locked her door, and got in her white BMW.  
Brickenridge park was relatively small, the kind of park that was ideal for jogging or walking dogs, but not picnics or playing soccer. As Carmen pulled her car to the curb, she noticed that Alana had several dogs with her. There was one with a sort of brown speckled, rusty coat, a large white one with pointed ears, and a black-coated one with a white muzzle and expressive brown eyebrows.  
Carmen walked over to Alana, who was sitting at a bench holding several leashes. As Carmen neared her, some of the dogs tugged towards her, whining and whimpering. Alana managed to reign them in, and stood up to extend a handshake.  
"It's great to meet you, Carmen. I didn't really know if you would show up, or if—you know, you were you at all."  
"I'm glad that you agreed to meet with me. Are these your dogs?" Carmen scratched behind the ears of the rust-colored dog, allowing him to sniff her hand before she patted his head.  
"These actually—they're Will's. I told him I would keep them indefinitely. That one is Winston, this is Fiona, and that one is Gulliver. I have to admit, it gets a bit overwhelming, taking care of seven dogs all on my own. Thankfully they all seem to like me just fine. Although Winston still hasn't entirely warmed up to me. I think he's just shy around new people. He seems to like you just fine though." Whenever Carmen would stop petting Winston, he would nuzzle her hand with his wet nose unceasingly until she resumed stroking his fur.  
"I've always loved dogs. Couldn't have one though, with all the travelling and the city apartment, you know. But I don't think I'll be going anywhere for a while. Which reminds me of the topic at hand." Carmen reached into her purse and withdrew another copy of the forty pages she had given to Jack.  
"This is everything I've written so far. I wanted you to know I was true to my word. Also, in my story, the character that was inspired by Will isn't the villain." She extended the packet towards Alana, who hesitated for a moment before taking it and tucking it into her purse as she sat.  
"I never saw Will as a villain either. No one did, really. We all knew he was unstable, I was witness to it more than most, but I never thought—I mean—he killed seven girls. How could I have missed that?"  
"That's what I actually wanted to talk to you about. This may sound insane, but I've spent weeks gathering evidence to back it up, so hear me out." Carmen joined Alana in sitting on the bench.  
"I don't think Will is the killer."  
"Then who do you suspect is?"  
"One night I couldn't sleep so I pulled on a jacket and decided to jog. I found myself heading towards the direction of Will's house. I knew a little about Will's case at this point, like which house was his and that the police had finished examining it. But when I jogged by, the lights in some of the rooms were on. I came back every night for a few weeks, and once a week, for three weeks, someone would show up around midnight, and lurk around Will's house until three in the morning. On the third week, I got close enough to see his face as he left, and I recognized him from the Tattler articles as Doctor Hannibal Lecter. After that night, I never saw the lights come on again."  
"What would Hannibal be doing in Will's house at midnight?"  
"That's what I was wondering, and that's why I needed to look at all the case information. I was studying the clock drawings, the ones that Hannibal handed over as evidence, compared to the one he drew for you in prison. One of the clocks that Hannibal claims Will had drawn has a four drawn in a different style than all the others. I cross-checked it with a sample of Doctor Lecter's handwriting, and the styles were identical. I believe Hannibal forged the drawings that he handed over, and may have kept the original drawings for personal use. I think that whatever motivated him to make midnight visits to Will's house is the same thing that is motivating him to keep the original clock drawings hidden." Alana stood up, clasping tightly at the three leashes as the dogs tugged against her.  
"You do realize that Doctor Lecter is my colleague of several years, and these allegations are beyond severe."  
"I do. That's why I haven't told them to anyone else."  
"So what are you asking me to do?"  
"I'm asking you to look over the evidence, and their behavior, and tell me if you think I'm right, or totally insane. But, if you think I'm right, and you read that manuscript, and you think my intentions are good, then I want you to help me free Will Graham." She stood up from the bench.  
"I will think about it. But whatever I feel is true, it will be because I feel it. Not because of the evidence anyone has given me."  
"If you have any questions at all, you have my phone number. I'd appreciate if you would tell me when you reach your decision. If my case is helpless, I'd like to know as soon as possible."

"I will call you when I decide. I have to go now. Nice meeting you Carmen."

"You as well. I wish you the best of endings."

Alana smirked. "You know, I've read nearly all of your books. For a crime and horror writer, you certainly have a taste for happy endings."

"Of course. I have an obligation to those characters whose lives I change."

They made eye contact for a brief second, Carmen's green-gold irises locking onto Alana's icy blue before Alana blinked hurriedly, standing frozen in place for a moment before turning away and walking the dogs away. Carmen stood up and walked back to her car. Now all there was to do was wait.


	5. Occupational Hazards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmen meets with Doctor Chilton and arranges to interview Will Graham. Chilton is suprisingly cooperative.

It had been a week since Carmen had last seen Will. A day since she'd spoken to Alana.  
Being a professional writer was a strange thing. Carmen would wake up after a night of restless sleep—she never awoke feeling refreshed-and then she would sit up on her large, otherwise unoccupied bed, and look around the stark, wooden room for a few minutes wondering where she was. Then she would remember Will Graham, and then she would realize—Wolftrap, Virginia.  
Then she would get dressed, make some coffee, and open up her laptop. Today when she checked her email, she found a message from Jack that'd come through late the previous night.  
Carmen,  
Keep writing your masterpiece.  
Well that was rather unlike Jack. The pages must've been better than she'd thought. Either that, or Jack's taste was dissolving.  
Called Chilton, set up meeting for four o' clock Wednesday. If there's anything else you need, let me know. –JC  
Today was Wednesday. Carmen knew she'd get Chilton's permission. Every decision Chilton had made this far indicated that he was curious what impact she would have on someone as unstable as Will. She would have to play into his curiosity. That wouldn't be a problem. What she was worried about was whether she'd be capable of playing nice.  
She dressed in an outfit like the ones she normally wore to the precinct. Pencil skirt, blouse, black heels, blonde hair worn wavy over one shoulder. The parking lot at the institution was understandably small. They didn't get many visitors here. She stepped out of the car and up to the entrance of the building. Once inside, there were a few chairs set against a wall in a sort of waiting area, and then two hallways that diverged into separate paths. One led to the offices of those who worked here—people like Chilton—and the other to people who 'lived' here. People like Will Graham.  
It was five minutes before she heard footsteps from the office hallway.  
"Carmen, do come in." He wore a navy suit and a garish purple tie.  
"Doctor Chilton." He smiled pointedly and gestured for her to follow behind him as he turned and began walking down the better lit hallway.  
"I'm sorry you had to wait. We don't exactly have a reception desk."  
"Understandable, considering the functions of the institution."  
Chilton's office was more of a collection. A collection of well-oiled furniture and dark decorative pieces suited to a man with better taste. He took the ornate chair behind the desk, and gestured to the one on the other side. The thick drapes let in minimal natural light, and while Carmen counted four lamps in the room, only one was actually being used.  
"Please, have a seat." She sat and set her purse on the ground. There was a short silence, both unwilling to be the first to initiate the conversation that would follow. Eventually, Chilton wet his lips and spoke.  
"So, I understand you have an interest in patient Graham."  
"That's correct. I assume that Jack sent you a copy of my manuscript." Chilton hesitated.  
"He said he wouldn't tell you that I asked."  
"Oh, he didn't. But I expected him to do so when I gave him the copy. I figured it was the only way you would even consider my proposition. Have you finished reading it?"  
"I only received it yesterday—but yes, I have. I'm a fast reader, and your book held my attention."  
"So you liked it?"  
"It's a masterpiece, both in the literary and psychological aspects involved. The mental illnesses of both characters are immaculately portrayed. There was just one thing that was sort of unclear, after finishing. I hope you don't mind if I ask."  
"Go ahead."  
"Which one is Will? The hunter, or the fisherman?" Carmen smiled.  
"I intend to make that very clear in the end." Chilton let out a sound of amused irritation.  
"So I guess I'll have to wait to find that out."  
"I'm afraid so. Now, about the visitation rights—"  
"Of course. After reading the pages, I understand why face-to-face interviews would be so helpful. I just had a few questions."  
"I'm listening."  
"What would your interviews entail?"  
"I would need to be alone with Will in an environment that will keep his responses uncompromised. If he is observed, or suspects he is observed in any way, it could taint his answers. I need to maintain the status of a lawyer figure to him."  
"He's refused to speak to any lawyers."  
"Let me clarify. I need to maintain the status of a good lawyer. Of course, we've already discussed how the information I learn from him will be used. We've agreed that I will not record any of our meetings. And he has already consented to provide information about his experiences to me, for the purpose of research for my novel. Can you promise me an uncompromised environment in which to conduct the meetings between Will Graham?"  
"I believe that is agreeable. I do, however, have one requirement. As you know, I am responsible for monitoring Will Graham's mental health while he remains in this institution. So I must be allowed to question him after each of your meetings as to what you discussed, to make sure the topics approached didn't open any old wounds or prompt any psychological trauma. I won't prompt him to go into excessive detail unless it's clear that your meeting has unsettled him in some way."  
"I agree to that."  
"One last question. Will Graham is held here because he's suspected of the brutal murder of a number of young women,"  
"Seven, I believe."  
"Yes, seven. As I was saying, brutal murders prompted by rising insanity and mental instability, hallucinations, and paranoia. Anyone who visits someone like patient Graham puts themselves at extreme risk. Were he to become fixated with you, especially with the fact that there is still a small chance he could be found not guilty, there is nothing to stop him from finding you after his release."  
"So what are you asking me?"  
"Are you willing to put yourself at that great a risk for research?" Carmen smiled.  
"Yes I am." Chilton stood up and extended a hand in offering of a handshake. Carmen stood, and extended her arm to meet his.  
"There's a few contracts you need to sign, and then you'll be granted full visitation rights. As often as you need as soon as I receive your signatures."  
"Thank you, that's better than I expected."  
"If you weren't the writer you are, I wouldn't even have considered it."  
"Well then, I guess I'm just lucky." He pulled a paper clipped stack from his desk and handed it to her.  
"I'll have these to you by tomorrow. I hope you don't mind if I visit right after. I need to get some facts straight for this chapter I'm working on." She tucked the papers in her purse and started towards the door.  
"That should be fine. I'll see you tomorrow Ms. Banks."  
"Until then."  
Tomorrow she would see Will.  
They had a lot to talk about.


	6. Rot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmen gains access to Will Graham in the institution, and they exchange information as Carmen fights to gain his trust.

The next morning, at exactly 9:00 AM, Carmen dropped the signed contracts on Doctor Chilton's desk. He looked up from the document he'd been reading, and upon seeing Carmen, smiled.  
"Good morning, Carmen. I must say, I didn't expect to see you this early." Today he wore a terribly tailored beige suit and a nearly fluorescent turquoise tie.  
"Inspiration doesn't work office hours, unfortunately." Chilton stood up and started towards the door.  
"Neither do psychologists at criminal institutions, fortunately for you. I've arranged for your visit in the area where clients and their lawyers ordinarily meet." They began walking down the hallway, and as they passed a guard, Chilton gestured for him to follow.  
"It's unmonitored, for legal purposes. You won't be interrupted. We'll keep a guard posted in the corridor, for safety. The walls are soundproof." Chilton opened a door in the hallway and ushered Carmen inside.  
"A guard will bring Will in shortly. At half an hour, tell the guard outside if you need more time. The maximum I can allow you is one hour."  
"Half an hour should be plenty. Thank you for your accommodation."  
"You're welcome. Have fun." He said with a facetious smirk before turning back down the hallway. The door shut. There was one window in the room. She'd noticed it was tinted from the outside, but she could clearly see the hallway from inside. There were no mirrors, which eliminated all visual observation. She used her cellphone to check for interference which could be caused by listening devices. The room appeared clean. In the middle of the space, there was a metal desk, and at each end, a matching chair. She sat, and it was not long until the door opened again. The guard opened the door and followed Will to the other chair. When he sat, the guard left, and closed the door.  
"Hello, Will." He looked better kept today. As though he'd actually put some thought into his appearance. However, his eyes were darker, and the light inside them seemed compromised. As though the cracks that had been visible before had grown larger and deeper, slowly and gradually eating away at the light where it knew it could not recover.  
"I've examined the room and there are no listening devices. The guard would have to have his ear against the walls to hear any of our conversation, and from where I'm sitting, I can watch him out of that window at all times. There are no mirrors, as I'm sure you've noticed. So it appears Chilton has been true to his word, and we are unobserved. He does have permission to ask you vaguely about what we discuss, but before I leave we can decide what you'll tell him. I have thirty minutes. Now that that's all over with, I'll let you speak."  
"I've thought a lot about your offer."  
His voice was smoother, only cracking slightly. But his tone was bitter and harsh.  
"It was quite the proposal. How much time did you spend crafting it?"  
"Honestly?", She looked him in the eye, surprised when she found him staring directly back.  
"Weeks."  
Will didn't realize he was looking her in the eyes. Until he realized that it did not hurt. Her eyes weren't soft, but they weren't burdened with doubts and desires and fears and intents. They were a single shade, a single message, and although he wasn't sure what that message was, it was direct and unhidden. After a few seconds, it felt easy to look her in the eyes. Comforting even, in a way no person's eyes had ever been. It took him a moment to raise his barriers once more and respond.  
"It sounded a little too noble to be sincere. I have trouble believing that you'd invest in such a one sided agreement."  
"I thought you would. That's why I brought you this." She reached under the table, and came back up with a stack of paper.  
"It's the book that I've been writing so I could get access to you." She slid it towards him. He raised an eyebrow, keeping his gaze directed at her as he drew it towards him.  
"Doctor Chilton is allowing me to read the crime novel you're writing about my murders?"  
"I've told you before Will, in my version of the story, you're not the murderer. And I didn't exactly get permission. If you're uncomfortable with bending the rules, I can take it back." He broke eye contact with her to look down at the papers.  
"The Hunter. An interesting title."  
"It fits."  
"Unsettlingly well. I think Chilton has a surprising tolerance for rule bending, considering his own practices. I assume you'd like to start interviewing me now. "  
"A fair assumption, however incorrect. I'd like to tell you what I've been doing this past week."  
"Besides writing?"  
"Oh, I've accomplished much more than that. I interviewed Jack. He's under the impression that Doctor Lecter had no prior knowledge of your crimes. It may be difficult to convince him. I think he wants to be convinced though. We just need to present compelling evidence."  
"More compelling than fishing lures from my house with the girls' hair in them?"  
"I think equally compelling would suffice. Jack gave me contact information for everyone you knew personally. Beverly, Freddie, Alana, and of course, Doctor Lecter."  
"Have you contacted Hannibal?"  
"No. I don't plan on making him aware of my existence until there are motions in place to end his. From what I've found about him, the best possible way to stay alive is to stay as far away from him as you can."  
"And here you've bought a house twenty minutes away from his office."  
"I've made sure that no one knows that."  
"I know that."  
"This whole arrangement hinges on mutual trust. Now, the extent to which you trust me need not equal the extent to which I trust you, but if you don't trust me, one or both of us will end up dead. You know where I live. You know my true intentions. Now, Will Graham, do you trust me?" He looked at her eyes for a moment. It couldn't have been more than a second before he blinked, and spoke.  
"I guess I have to trust someone. Otherwise they may have to add trust issues to my ever growing list of ailments." He smirked, and she smiled back.  
"Good. Now, the first one of your contacts I met with was Alana." At the mention of the name, he sat up a little straighter.  
"How is she?" He made no attempts at seeming apathetic. If they were going to trust each other, then he didn't need to hide his emotions any longer.  
"She was with three of your dogs. She said their names were—Fiona, Gulliver, and Winston." At the dogs' names, his demeanor shifted even further. A sliver of light was returned to his eyes, and when he spoke his voice bore sincere emotion.  
"How were they? And how did she look?"  
"She seems to be coping well. She's having a little difficulty caring for seven dogs. She says they're all getting along well enough, but Winston was taking a while to adjust."  
"He's shy around new people."  
"He seemed friendly enough. He kept nudging my hand. I understand your affinity for dogs. They're wonderful animals. I'd probably have a few of my own if I weren't travelling so often." There was a short silence, and Will began flipping through the papers in front of him before looking up.  
"What are the chances of you getting me out of here?"  
"The odds get better every day. If everything goes according to plan, by your trial there should be a forty percent chance of your total acquittal. Before I arrived, I'd have estimated it to be around seven percent. Our angle isn't proving that you're innocent, it's providing another suspect for consideration."  
"Hannibal Lecter."  
"Yes. Now, I do have a few questions for you."  
"Go ahead."  
"Are you still being treated for encephalitis?"  
"I'm on anti-inflammatory medication, yes, but that's the extent of my treatment."  
"Have you still been experiencing symptoms?"  
"My normal temperature is a degree above normal, but no loss of time, no hallucinations, no seizures."  
"In one of your psychiatric reports—the publicly released report, you said you'd seen a 'crow-feathered stag' on several occasions. Has this image repeated itself?"  
"Not while I'm awake."  
"How are your dreams?" He smiled grimly.  
"I don't have dreams anymore. Only nightmares"  
"Does Doctor Chilton often ask you about your nightmares?"  
"It tends to be how he opens every session. He asks me to describe every dream I can remember in as great of detail as possible, and he also asks for me to keep a dream journal."  
"Do you think this dream journal is for public release or private use?"  
"He told me he intends on keeping it to himself. I withhold some of the details—those that could be used against me in court."  
"And has Doctor Chilton attempted to use psychic driving on you as he did with Gideon?" Will's face shifted from one of mildly amused cooperation to totally nonplussed.  
"How did you know about that?"  
"What do you think I did during those weeks of preparation? Research. Very, very, thorough research, more air tight than Hannibal Lecter's alibis. Now, my question is if he used those techniques on you." Will Graham looked back down at the papers before him, and flipped to the last few pages. Keeping his eyes trained on the print, he said very quietly,  
"He's been trying."  
"Is it working?"  
"I think it's starting to. At first it was obvious what he was trying to do. But he started alternating methods, so I never know exactly what to prepare myself for. It feels like he's stripping away the rotting wood walls and putting in new insulation."  
"Will, the person you were before all of this is stronger than wood. If anything I'd say this has made you stronger. It's made you into stone."  
"Maybe, but being stone isn't necessarily a good thing."  
"No it's not. But it sure is harder to burn stone walls than it is to burn wooden ones. I know my saying this doesn't make it any easier, but I need you to resist. Just focus on the light at the end of the tunnel. Focus on your dogs, on Alana, on everything that was good before everything turned bad."  
"I'll focus on living to be outside these bars, looking in at Hannibal Lecter."  
"And I'll focus on putting him there."  
"How often will you be visiting?"  
"How often would you like me to?"  
"As often as possible."  
"I'll try to come every other day. Now, we'll have to agree about what we discussed here for you to tell Chilton. I was thinking I asked you today about your childhood, to form a good base for the character."  
"Sounds good." Will plucked the manuscript from the table and stowed it under his uniform over his chest.  
"Then I guess I'll see you on Thursday. Is there anything you'd like me to tell Alana?" He thought on this.

"Just tell her thank you." Carmen nodded and opened the door, shouting down the hall to the guard.

"I'm done here."


	7. A Collaboration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmen seeks help from two rather unlikely acquaintances for help in proving Hannibal Lecter's guilt. Can she manage to convince them both too see the proof, and to work together?

Carmen thought about Will Graham more than she would care to admit to anyone. It was part of the reason why she was here. His wasn't the first pitiful story she crossed. She read plenty of crime blogs for inspiration, and had unearthed plenty of unjust prosecutions. There was one blaring flaw in the justice system; innocent people are far easier caught than professional criminals.

But there was something about Will Graham's story that—captivated her. In a way that only fiction had ever done before. It wasn't the writing, she found Freddie Lound's work irritating at best. After much introspection, she determined that it was the man. The victim. The innocent. The protagonist.

While everyone who knew Carmen knew her to be rash, nothing else had ever compelled her to pick up everything and move somewhere she'd never even been. Will's story had more than captivated her, it had enslaved her, until the point of obsession. Until the point where Carmen felt as though she couldn't be happy unless she was there, rewriting it.

Today she started the plan. It had all been preparation up to this point. Phone calls and cordiality and politely asking for permission. Today she made her last call.

"Hello, is this Freddie Lounds?"

Carmen set the meeting place at a café fifteen miles from Doctor Lecter's office. The two people she was about to meet with were major players, he would notice if they went missing.

She dressed more casually than she had for the park that day, wearing a white tank top, a large knit cardigan, riding pants, and boots. She pulled her car up to the curb behind the café, and got out, scanning the parking lot for the silver escalade and navy blue Mercedes that assured her both people were here.

The bell above the door rang as she stepped through, and immediate warmth flooded through her.

At a booth in the far back of the café, was a scene she felt a little proud of constructing. Alana Bloom and Freddie Lounds, sitting across from each other. Of course, they both looked absolutely miserable, and Carmen knew things would get worse before they got better, but it was imperative that they did get better eventually, so she pulled a chair up next to the booth and sat down.

"We have a lot to talk about." Alana glared at Carmen.

"I agreed to meet you. Not her." Freddie snorted.

"It's not like I knew about this little arrangement either. I'm only here because—" Carmen turned to Alana, looking her directly in the eyes.

"Freddie is only here because I blackmailed her. I hope you'll both try and work together here. I need both of you desperately if this is going to work." Alana stuck her tongue in her cheek and crossed her arms, but remained in silent agreement.

"If what is going to work?", Freddie snapped. Carmen reached into her purse and slid a folder towards her.

"I have several copies of that, and before you take any photos, I'd like to remind you of your motivation for being here." Freddie opened the folder and stared for a moment before slamming it shut.

"Is this a joke? You think this will hold up in court?"

"It won't without the physical evidence to prove it's not doctored."

"You mean, these are photos of the actual evidence? How'd you get access to that?"

"Jack has a soft spot for writers." Freddie glanced at her quizzically. "Novelists. Journalists, on the other hand—," Carmen trailed off. Freddie opened the folder again and flipped through it examining each page carefully.

"So what are you trying to do here? And what do you need us for?"

"I'm trying to get Will Graham acquitted, and Hannibal Lecter behind bars. I need you, Freddie, to obtain some more physical evidence for me, from Doctor Lecter himself. And Alana, I figured you would be Will's best ally in this situation. You also happen to know quite a bit more about everyone involved in this than I do. And due to your high standing in the field of psychology, I figure you'll know what levers to pull, what strings to snap, what gears need to be blocked off. Both of you are experts at what you do, and quite simply, I require both of your expertise. Are you open to working with me to achieve this goal?" Freddie smirked.

"What's in this for me?"

"You mean besides me graciously withholding the information I have on you from the press?" Her expression soured.

"I'd be willing to do a collaboration with you. Up to twenty five pages, as long as it gains my approval, I'll put my name next to yours. I won't forget you if you help me, and as I'm sure you know, with my connections, I could make your career. However, if you go behind my back, I'll have tattle crime shut down, and I'll make sure no self-respecting or otherwise publication will publish one word you write. So, Freddie, do we have a deal?"

"You're not giving much of a choice."

"But aren't you the least bit curious to see how this could turn out? If your articles are of any indication, you're nearly as interested in Will Graham as I am. Wouldn't you like to know who really put all those bodies there? Because I can tell you this. If you walk out right now, I won't stop you. But you'll never know how the story ends. Even if you don't particularly like writing the truth, wouldn't you like to know it?"

She scowled for a moment, before the corners of her mouth twisted up into a smile.

"I don't see how I could refuse. You know, I would have settled for a few autographs and a mention in the acknowledgements of this new book you're writing."

"I know. But you'll be going face-to-face with Doctor Lecter . If my theory is correct, and I couldn't be more sure that it is, then that would mean endangering your life. If things were to go horribly wrong, I'd have to live with the guilt of someone dying for a few of my autographs."

This seemed to silence Freddie, at least for the moment. Carmen turned to Alana.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like to gain from this arrangement?" Alana smirked.

"I'd like to get my house back from Will's dogs. They're tearing up my furniture." Her expression turned solemn.

"To be honest, after you brought it to my attention, I've started doubting the relationship I have with Doctor Lecter. I want to know the truth, also. And if Will is innocent, then there's no reason for him to waste in that god awful institution with Frederick Chilton." Carmen nodded, and Alana seemed to relax, redirecting her gaze towards her hands.

"So, you agree."

"I'll do anything you ask—of the legal variety. I'm not willing to commit crimes." Carmen smiled.

"That's quite alright. We have Freddie for that." There was a short silence, and Carmen continued.

"I'll be keeping in contact with both of you. It's important that we meet in private locations, a good distance from the precinct or Doctor Lecter's office. If either of you have questions, feel free to contact me." Freddie slid the packet into her purse, and stood, extending a hand for Carmen to shake.

"It was good meeting you, Carmen Banks." Carmen hesitated for a long moment before meeting Freddie's hand with hers.

"You as well. I'll see you soon." Freddie left the café, the bell ringing behind her. Alana stood and gathered her purse.

"I read the manuscript, Carmen. It's brilliant, but more importantly, it erased any doubts I may have had about your intentions for Will. I can be defensive of him at times, but that's only because there was no one else left to defend him. Now you're here, and honestly, I feel as though I have someone else to share the weight with." Carmen kept her eyes trained on the table, even as Alana stood.

"Alana, I'll be seeing Will tomorrow, if there are any questions you'd like me to ask him." She swung the bag over her shoulder.

"I can't think of anything at the moment. How does he seem?"

"He's hanging on. Doctor Chilton is getting to him, slowly. But he's strong. Perhaps stronger than any of us give him credit for. I've told him his dogs are alright, and that you're keeping up with them. He seemed relieved."

"That's good. Although honestly, I am a little overwhelmed. I didn't exactly buy my house with the prospect of seven dogs in mind." She smiled tightly.

"If this all goes to plan, he'll be home in weeks."

"I truly hope it does."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments, kudos greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave your feedback!


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